BIRTHS.

On the 3rd inst. in York Terrace, Regent's Park, the Lady of the Baron de Torre de Moncorvo, late Portuguese minister at this court, of a son. On the 1st inst. at Harborne, the Lady of D. Wakefield, jun. Esq. of a daughter. On the 7th inst. at the Vicarage, West Tarring, Sussex, the Lady of the Rev. J. W. Warter, of a daughter. On the 8th inst. at Cheltenham, the Lady of Captain Forbisher of a daughter. On the 17th inst. the Lady of C. T. Warde, Esq. of Westoon House, in the Isle of Wight, of a son, still-born. On the 14th inst. at Castle Hill, High Wycomb, Mrs. Rumsey of a daughter. On the 15th inst. Mrs. J. Ormerod, of Halliwell Lodge, near Bolton, Lancashire, of a son. On the 14th inst. at Hatfield, the wife of the Rev. B. Peile of a daughter. On the 17th inst. in Portland Place, the Lady of B. B. Williams, Esq. of a son, still-born. On the 17th inst. in Cumberland Terrace, Regent's Park, Mrs. W. S. Browning of twins, one still-born. On the 17th inst. the Lady of H. Hendricks, Esq. of Oxford Terrace, Hyde Park, of a son. On the 16th inst. at the Vicarage, Tottenham, the Lady of the Rev. E. Vaux of a daughter. On the 21st inst. at Coptford Hall, in the county of Essex, the Lady of Henry Arundell, Esq. of a son. At Paris, on the 14th inst. the Lady of Major-General Sir Neil Douglass of a daughter. On the 24th inst. at Leyton, Essex, the Lady of the Rev. C. J. Laprimaudaye of a son. MARRIAGES.

At Oakley Park, Suffolk, on Tuesday, the 5th of January, by the Hon. and Rev. William Henniker, the Right Hon. Lord Henniker, of Major House, to Anne, daughter of Major-General Sir Edward Kerrison, M. P. At Oddington, on the 4th inst. by the Rev. William Sweet, Escott Charles Agustus Amey, Esq., 51st King's Own Light Infantry, to Cecil, second daughter of the Hon. and Very Rev. the Dean of Gloucester. On the 10th inst. at Marylebone Church, by the. Hon. and Rev. Frederick Butie Percival, eldest son of Percival Walsh, Esq. of Oxford, to Emily, youngest daughter of Edmund Tufton Phelp, Esq. of Coxten, Leicestershire. On the 29th ult. at Bodminton, C. W. Codrington, Esq. M. P., to the Lady Georgiana Somerset, daughter of his Grace the Duke of Beaufort. On the 29th ult. at St. Martin's-in-the-Fields, the Rev. F. Wickham, M. A., Fellow of New College, Oxford, to Louisa, daughter of the Rev. E. Chaplin, of Camden Town. On the 3rd inst. at Grustling Church, near Hastings, by the Rev. R. W. Close, the Rev. N. J. Richmond, to Eliza, daughter of Major Close, Royal Artillery. On the 30th ult. at Llanidloes, North Wales, by the Rev. John Meredith, M. A., William Hunt, Esq. of the island of St. Vincent, to Mary Lloyd Price, third daughter of T. Price, Esq. of the Green, and J. P. for the county of Montgomery. On the 3rd inst. at Chichester, the Rev. W. Potter, of Witnesham, Suffolk, to Harriet, daughter of W. C. Newland, Esq. of Chichester. On the 5th inst. at Caerleon,

T. Hooper, Esq. of Torrington Park, Hunts, to Catherine Price, of the Priory, Monmouthshire. On the 5th inst. at Rooss, Yorkshire, the Rev. C. Hotham, to Lucy Elizabeth, widow of the Hon, and Rev. H. Duncombe, and daughter of the Rev. C. Sykes. On the 7th inst. at Liverpool, J. Ewart, Esq. of Fortes Green, Finchley, to Auna, daughter of Captain J. Pech, late of the 9th Foot. On the 31st ult. at the British Ambassador's, Florence, T. T. Fawcett, Esq. of London, to Mary, daughter of R. Edmonds, Esq. of Hatcham, Kent. On the 18th inst. at St. George's, Hanover Square, Lieut.Col. E. H. Bridgman, son of the late Hon. and Rev. George and the Lady Lucy Bridgeman, to Harriet Elizabeth Frances, nicce to the late Lady Hertford and Lady W. Gordon.

DEATHS.

At Murrell Green, on Wednesday, the 11th of January, Major-General the Hon. F. C. Cavendish, K.C.B., Colonel of the Royal Dragoons, second son of the Earl of Besborough. On the 14th instant, of apoplexy, the Rt. Hon. Lord Audley, aged 56. At Bromley Hill, on the 18th instant, the Right Hon. Lady Farnborough. On the 20th ult., at Edinburgh, the Lady of Sir John Nasmyth, Bart., of Posso, Peebleshire; and at the same time and place, her second son Stewart Nasmyth. On the 28th ult. at Heydon Hall, Norfolk, aged 29, Emily, wife of W. L. Bulwer, Esq. On the 29th ult. at Morecut House, Birmingham, J. Johnstone, Esq. M. D. aged 68. On the 29th ult. at the Adelphi Terrace, the widow of Sir Joseph Banks. On the 30th ult. the Rev. H. Crosby, aged 68. On the 1st inst. in Chelsea Hospital, Field-Marshal the Right Hon. Sir S. Hulse, G.C.H. governor and commandant of that establishment, and Colonel of the 62nd regiment of Infantry, aged 91. On the 1st inst. at Spaw, Berks, the Rev. G. Wylde, aged 76. On the 4th inst. J. de Grenier Fonblanque, Esq. Bencher, of the Middle Temple, and formerly M. P. for Camelford, aged 77. On the 21st ult. at Aberystwith, Viscountess Bolingbroke, wife of Henry Viscount Bolingbroke, and daughter of the late Sir Henry St. John Mildmay, Bart. On the 29th ult. at Richmond, C. Ramsden, Esq. M. P. On the 6th inst. at Segnicol, Gloucestershire, Sir C. Cockerell, Bart. M. P. for Evesham. On the 1st inst. at Kensington, Capt. W. Maxfield, of the Indian Navy. On the 3rd inst. at Leamington, Mrs. Lefanu, sister of the late Right Hon. R. B. Sheridan. On the 10th, at Thornham, Suffolk, the Right Hon. Mary Dowager Lady Henniker, relict of the late John Minet Lord Lord Henniker, aged 61. On the 11th, at the Vicarage, Dunchurch, Warwickshire, Frances Catherine Sandford, relict of the late Right Rev. Bishop Sandford, of Edinburgh. On the 16th, at Lant House, Dorset, the Right Hon. Viscount Weymouth. On the 24th, in Harley-street, Janet, the wife of James Lewis, Esq., of Clifton, near Bristol. On the 23rd, at Brighton, Elizabeth, the wife of the Right Hon. Sir John Bayley, Bart.,

Of all the islands that it has ever been my lot to visit, the Isle of Wight is certainly the most beautiful—that is, if you happen to see it on a fine day, which fine day, in the dark humid climate of Hampshire, occurs about once every two or three months. In this blessed county, the visits of the sun are something like the appearances of a comet in other parts of the world, a matter for speculation, and the good people of Vectis would do well to have an almanack of their own, in which such rare events might be calculated after the fashion of eclipses; as thus-"on such a day, there will be a cloudless sky, and the sun will make his first and only appearance for the spring quarter," whereupon the islanders should all turn out to give him welcome as a stranger who comes but seldom, and is likely to make but a brief stay amongst them.

But, though I abhor these days of drizzle-drizzle-drizzle, in which Dame Nature may be compared to a great sulky schoolboy, blubbering over his bread and butter, with red eyes, and dirty streaked face, I have no objection whatever to a thorough storm, which lends a grandeur to the scene, superior perhaps to the quiet beauty of a bright blue sky. And just such a day it was, about the time of the autumnal equinox, when I paid my first visit to Vectis. Cowes, Newport, Ryde, and all the more inhabited portions, which are completely summer pictures, appeared dreary enough; but once upon the high downs the scene was glorious beyond description. Certainly, a hill is not a mountain, nor can a little slip of salt water be dignified into an ocean by any one except a cockney; and yet, for all that, the scenery of the Island, as the natives term it, may, under certain aspects of the season, be called sublime. When, on a rough winter's morning, you stand upon one of these downs and look around you, it is with the same sort of feeling that you gaze upon a painted landscape, which, in its image of desolation, awakens all the ideas of the sublime without any of the dangers that belong to the reality. It may seem an odd way to describe the Isle of Wight, and VOL. X.-NO. III.-MARCH 1837.

perhaps, after all, it does not exactly convey to others my feelings on the subject,— but I would say, that it is a miniature resemblance of all that is beautiful in many countries, combining in itself their various attributes. To see it in this point of view, however, you must burn your guide-book, and break the neck of your guide if he is not to be got rid of on easier terms; the moment you take a companion either in the shape of a human being, or of a book, the whole beauty of this, as of every scene, vanishes after a fashion truly marvellous. The fact is, you may teach a man, or at least some men, to reason, but to teach them to admire is a thing not to be thought of.

The back of the island is, as I have just observed, the only place for a winter excursion; and this, notwithstanding the many villages that figure in the map, is as pretty a piece of desolation as a reasonable traveller would desire. I should have walked over all these villages in broad daylight, without being aware of their existence, but from the natural spirit of enquiry excited by hunger; then, indeed, I found that some half-dozen hovels, placed tolerably close to each other, constituted a village; so on I went, famishing and edified, but in high good humour with the whole course of the Undercliff, which comprehends somewhat more than half the way from Shanklin Chine to Black Gang Chine. It is astonishing how many, and how different from each other, are the objects to be seen in this short space; and if the walk be extended to Freshwater, the route will be complete. I will not stop to describe all of them, nor will I take those described in their actual order; but will present them to my readers, as the halffaded images brighten and revive upon the recollection. And how singularly, in reverting to the past, does one idea act like a talisman in calling up another. A little while since, before I took the pen into my hand, not a single image of the island was present to memory, yet now, in an instant, a veil seems to have dropped away from between the past and present, and I remember a thousand minute circumstances that

P

bubble up, as it were, from the waves of time. From Saint Catherine's Tower to Saint Lawrence's Church is a jump, somewhat after Macbeth's fashion, when he proposed to "jump the life to come;" yet, though recollection started with the former, in the next moment come before me, as freshly as ever, little Mary, the janitress of Saint Lawrence; how proud she was of her church, and of its celebrity as being the smallest in the world! it might, indeed, have served for the king of Lilliput, and magnates of some kind there must have been in the neighbourhood; for the cockleshell had pews, and these, as every reader knows, were confined in the good old times to persons of the first rank. Apropos de bottes. In the reign of Elizabeth flourished a Sir John Townley, who thus expresses himself in regard to pews:"My man Shuttleworth, of Hacking, made this form, and here will I sit when I come; and my cousin Howell may make one behind me if he please, and my sonne Sherburne shall make one on the other side, and Mr. Catterall, another behind him; and for the residue, the use shall be, first come first speed, and that will make the proud wives of Whalley rise betimes to come to church." Much cannot be said for the gallantry of the doughty knight, but he seems to have hit upon a most happy expedient to ensure the early attendance of the female part of his congregation.

On leaving Saint Lawrence, my attention was attracted by a handsome building, the very reverse of the Saint's domicile in point of size. "What house is that?" asked I; and the little Mary replied with a curtesy, "The Great House, Sir."-" And who lives there?"-A second curtesy, and a look of infinite surprise-" The Great People, Sir," I never like to spoil a good story, or a good reply, by impertinent questions, so the "Great People" must remain to the reader, as to myself, a profound mystery.

Steephill.-There is a sort of quaint beauty about this spot, which it would be exceedingly difficult to convey an idea of by description. The Picturesque Pocket Companion discreetly observes, "It is a place of little consequence, except for its scenery." Many thanks for the information !-and what the plague should give it a consequence, if not its scenery? Oh, Mr. Kidd! Mr. Kidd! the plates of your neat little volume are really beautiful; but do, pray,

66

in your next edition, follow the Queen's excellent advice to old Polonius, and give us more matter with less art." A guidebook should not be altogether like a very pretty woman with a very silly head, and for this obvious reason-a lady's lips may make amends for the faults of her tongue, but the unlucky book has no such advantage.

In this Eden, the Earl of Dysart had a cottage when I first visited the island; but the property has passed away into other hands, and, as a natural consequence, the cottage has been suffered to fall into decay. There is something exceedingly mortifying to human vanity in such changes; they seem to hint how little posterity, to whom your neglected gentlemen are in the habit of addressing themselves, is likely to think of us or our concerns. Indeed, if he listened to all our complaints, he would have no time to attend to his own affairs.

The Sand Rock Spring finds an honourable mention in the Guide-books-why, the compilers of such trivia best know themselves. For my part, I only mention this quackery to caution my readers against being deceived by it. The chalybeate was discovered-so say its admirers-by one Waterworth, an obscure apothecary, and, it is to be presumed, of little practice, or he would not have found time for springhunting. Be this as it may, the spring had been known for years to all the old women of the island, as well as to their mothers and grandmothers before them, but, not having the worldly craft of the pill-vendor, the simple souls never thought of bottling up a filthy, useless fluid, and puffing it off as a real elixir vitæ. Bile tumet jecur-my bile rises at the thought, as it once did at the taste of this abomination.

Black-Gang Chine.-This is one of the most remarkable features in the island. It is an immense, savage-looking chasm, torn out of the solid rock,-or, to speak correctly, the cliff; for the precipice, which is here about five hundred feet above the level of the sea, has neither stone nor chalk in its rugged sides. From the top splashes, or rather creeps, a thin, discoloured stream; and, following this in its descent, I had nearly tumbled over a second declivity when I fancied myself already on a level with the shore. Having luckily escaped from this awkward chance, I blundered on through mud and mire to the